Hey, I'm as surprised as you are. I thought it was supposed to rain but, NO, it had to snow. Of course it did. It's been in "snow mode" since I can't remember when so why stop now. Why shift all that celestial machinery over to squirting water at us when it can route it through a freezer and send down something that doesn't just drain away but lays there like a toddler having a tantrum until we shovel it out of our way? Yeah, keep on annoying the puny humans. Where're they gonna go? Yesterday when I got the paper the full moon was peeking at me thorough the bare maple tree. See? The street is bare, not so in today's photo. Tsk.
In the spirit of self-congratulation, I have to show you the letter I got the other day. The Clearing Folk School sent out a call for arts and crafts and writings about their Council Rings, which are a special feature developed by the founder, Jens Jensen, so I unearthed a couple poems I'd written about the Dance Ring, polished them up, and sent them along. They both got accepted. You could have knocked me over with a feather. So, if you're up in Door County go up to Ellison Bay, turn left on Garrett Bay Road and turn in at the Jensen Center entrance (it's the second one). In the big room to the right of the entry will be a year-long display of the accepted art, etc. and my little poems will be there too. Last time they did a "The Clearing Speaks" exhibit you could buy a ticket to try to win your favorite piece, not the writings, although they compiled them into a book that is for sale in their bookstore, but the art and carvings and weavings and all that other cool stuff. Go look.
March 19--Union Porcelain Works, Liberty Cup and Saucer. Gaye was uncomfortable. The teacup and saucer Mrs. Welton handed her was paper thin, rimmed with gold, and the handle, well, the handle was like a ship's figurehead. There was no room to slip a finger in it so that she had a good grip on the thing. She could only pinch it between her thumb and fingers and with the way her hands shook she was afraid she'd drop the delicate things and break them. When she and Charlie had moved to Baylor she planned to get a job in an insurance office or something like that but the newspaper editor had offered her a job when she stopped in for a copy of the Gazette to look at the want ads. "But I've never written more than an essay in school," she told him, "I'm a typist." He waved away her protest. "All I need is someone to go to a few club meetings and events around town and take notes. Someone here will take them and turn them into articles." She had agreed to try. He had lied, there was no one to write up her notes, she had to just plunge in and do it.
Time for breakfast and showering and going to work-ing. I'm on it. Later, dudes and dudettes.